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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441295">pretty good, bad idea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily'>mazily</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Silent Witness (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:14:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a terrible idea—they work together, or near enough—but that doesn't seem to be stopping them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Ryan/Harriet Farmer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Femslash Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pretty good, bad idea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/gifts">phantomlistener</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"This is a terrible idea,” Harriet says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls Sam's polo up, slides a hand up to flirt with the edge of Sam's bra. Her fingers are chilled from the minutes they'd spent outside in the rain, with Sam pressed against the front door, her keys fumbled onto the ground somewhere. Sam flinches at the shock of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A disaster in the making," Sam agrees. They work together, or near enough. Neither of them is about to stop working together: Sam’s just moved back, after all, and Harriet’s finally in charge of her nick. This truly is a terrible idea, and yet—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s fingers tangle with Harriet's buttons. They're small, and fiddly, and Sam may work with her hands but she still fumbles, fingers stiff and clumsy. Her entire body is made up of competing sparks of cold and heat, exhaustion and excitement, fumbling and sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam lifts her arms for Harriet to pull her polo up and over her head. She finally manages to push Harriet’s blazer off her shoulders, down her arms and onto the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They snog their way up Sam's staircase—Sam flinches for a second at the sound of a picture frame rattling on the wall where they collide against it, Harriet cursing, “shit, sorry,” before returning to their kiss when the frame doesn’t fall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam half-expects Ricky to appear out of the darkness of the spare bedroom, sleepy, fuzzy and obnoxious. She thinks he’s with his mother for the night. Hopes he is. He doesn’t react to their noise, at any rate, so she lets herself believe there’s no one else home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then pulls back. Calls out for him, just to be sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My nephew,” she says, when Harriet tilts her head in question. “He stays with me sometimes, and I wanted to check he isn’t lurking in the spare room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right," Harriet says, “And now that’s sorted, I have no clue which room is yours."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs. Takes Harriet's hand in hers and pushes herself away from the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'd argued much of the evening at the pub. Harriet accusatory and Sam nowhere near apologetic. Their conversation twisted and turned and somehow ended up leading them to another round.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My shout," Sam said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You did jeopardize our entire investigation, after all," Harriet agreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We've been over this and over this,” Sam said, still wanting to fight about it. But she laughed, and flagged over the shaggy-haired barman, and left it for another night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now here they are, Sam's bra somewhere in the corridor and Harriet's blouse finally open to display a shocking riot of lace. Sam's a bit rusty at working the clasp from this angle, but it's still the work of a moment to unhook it now her fingers are thawed out, to pull the straps down Harriet's shoulders along with her blouse. She's lovely, Harriet; Sam's long thought so, and now she’s got proof it’s down to her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're lovely," she says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't need to sweet talk me," Harriet says. She unzips her own skirt. Wriggles it down to the floor and steps out of it. Kicks it toward a corner, not even looking where it lands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Always pegged you for one of those people who needs to hang everything up as they undress, no matter the occasion," Sam says. “Everything neatly folded and in its place or you can’t concentrate.” She’d a boyfriend like that in uni. He kept twitching glances at Sam’s t-shirt on the floor until he finally jumped out of bed, jumped out of a kiss even, just to hide it away where it couldn’t distract him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Always pegged you for someone who'd be naked by now," Harriet says, "Instead of standing there trying to hold a conversation with your trousers still on. We could always go back to the pub, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair play,” Sam says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets competitive after that. More so than usual. She's naked before Harriet's finished unhooking her stockings, pushing Harriet down to the bed with one leg still sheathed to the knee in sheer black. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harriet smokes after sex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need it,” she says, when she climbs out of bed to go hunt down her cigarettes and lighter. “Otherwise I’ll just keep buzzing all night long, won’t get a minute of sleep. Unless you’d rather I go home. I won’t be offended if you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls onto her side. Facing Harriet, watching her shake out every piece of clothing on the bedroom floor, disappointment hitting her anew with every empty pocket. She contemplates sending Harriet home: she could stretch out alone in her bed, listen to every creak of the house around her as she tosses and turns until morning. Decides against it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d rather you quit,” Sam says. “But barring that, you can smoke downstairs with a window open, and then bring me a glass of water when you’re finished.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a terrible habit,” Harriet says. She picks her blouse up off the floor. Slides her arms into the sleeves, but only buttons it halfway. “I even almost quit last year, but—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost isn’t quitting,” Sam interrupts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—there was a particularly nasty case around Easter, and I started back up again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Downstairs,” Sam repeats. “And then there’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet near the sink you’ll need to use before I let you back into my bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harriet steps into her skirt. Pulls it up and zips it. “Just in case of rogue nephews,” she says, leaning back to Sam for a quick press of lips. “I promise to take it all off again before getting back into bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam closes her eyes. Listens as the stairs creak under Harriet’s footsteps, as Harriet curses and putters around in the partial dark of downstairs. Sam contemplates calling down, telling her to turn the bloody lights on already, but decides against it; Harriet’s a woman grown, and she can fumble around with only the light from outside to guide her if that’s what she wants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets the sounds of Harriet moving around her house wash over her—the old floorboards, the groaning pipes, the squeaky doors and windows—and tries not to wonder too hard at what the bloody hell they think they’re doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What the hell she thinks she’s doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water in Sam’s en suite turns on, and Sam blinks her eyes open. Harriet’s a shadow against the too bright light, leaning over the sink. She spends a respectable amount of time in there: Sam counts to sixty and then stops counting, too busy questioning her actions tonight all over again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam runs her tongue over her teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bathroom light clicks off. Harriet steps out of her skirt on her way back across Sam’s bedroom, kicking it behind her without a pause. She’s already taken off her blouse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is an absolutely terrible idea, you know,” Sam says, as Harriet lifts the duvet and climbs back into bed. Harriet’s mouth tastes of Sam’s toothpaste when she kisses Sam quiet.  </span>
</p>
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